intuition & Inner Knowing

 (Author: Hyma Moorty, educator and social worker. )

Exam anxiety is something that we all have faced at some point of time in life. The sleepless nights, poor concentration, being feverish, and feeling like you are going to forget everything-it’s all part of the package. Sometimes the examination temperature (ETP) crossed the permitted mercury levels of a thermometer! I still have dreams about exams and it’s always the same: I am unprepared or invariably, I wouldn’t be able to attempt all the quetions despite preparation. 

Most times I see my mother chasing me and when she is about to challenge me, I get up with a shriek. Sometimes I dream of running over hills and mountains just to avoid exams, slip and fall in a gorge. But all these are dreams that haunt you for a number of years. That is the greatness of exams!

But among all the exams I have faced, one stands out clearly in my memory—my final year B.Sc. Organic Chemistry theory paper. 

I was so passionate about the whole thing and dreamed of becoming a scientist. I was very thorough with the subject and enjoyed the chemistry of carbon compounds. Organic Chemistry is widely considered as difficult, often called a ‘weed out’ course, but its reputation is high due to complex reaction sequences and visual understanding of electron movement. The subject moves away from rote memory. My professor Dr. Vijayalakshmi was a genius- she could recite the periodic table from memory and the entire content from the text. Amazing brain! 

Coming back to my story; it was the last paper in a series of 9 papers: 3 practical and 6 theories. we always had 4 to 5 days break in- between two theory papers. I slogged all four days and revised the matter at least twice in my ambition to be perfect. By the time I completed my revision, it was 5 am in the morning and the exam is at 9.30 am,that means not a wink the whole night. Though I wanted to rest for some time, the tension and excitement did not permit me to do so. I was well prepared for the exam but the pressure got to me.

By the time I settled down at my seat and got the question paper in hand and was going through the questions, my head started reeling like a spin and couldn’t focus. The letters were crawling. Everything was blurred and unclear. My palms were wet and I was sweating profusely. The invigilator, a kind professor from the University noticed and helped me totake a break. She could judge from my pale face that I was sleepless and needed some rest to soothe my nerves. She helped me with a glass of cold water and sent me to the ante room to relax. 

After 10 minutes I walked back to my seat. I still couldn’t decide how to start and from where to start. All the carbon single and double bonds that I was so familiar with were dancing in front of my eyes. I was still in that kind of delusion. While I was trying to figure out, suddenly I realized that Women Flying Squad, that checks on mal-practices walked in with their stern faces. By the time I tried to lift my head to see how many were there, a tall figure was standing close to my chair. 

Nervously I was about to get up from my seat but was shocked to see the chief standing with a smile. There were divinity and grace in her looks. She did not say a word but signaled to me to close my eyes, handed a fresh answer script (a very unusual gesture) almost telling me to start afresh. When I opened my eyes, everything looked normal, nothing was unusual. It was like divine intervention- I calmed down my nerves and finished the exam with ease. That moment stuck with me, and it’s a big part of why I am still talking about it.

Nothing in life is to be feared; it is only to be understood. Understanding has great beauty.

(Author: Premsai Samantaray)

Losing someone early in life often leaves behind a wound too deep for words. When the person lost is your emotional anchor—your safe space—the grief becomes even harder to process. And when it's left unexpressed, it can silently shape your body, your mind and your future.

That’s exactly what happened to me- my journey of healing began years after losing my elder brother.

“I’m the youngest of six siblings. My closest brother was nine years older than me, but he was everything. He understood me without words. I felt safe, seen.”

At the time of my brother’s wedding, I had just begun college. Life felt full of possibilities. But only 16 days later, tragedy struck. My brother was on his way to Jharsuguda from Sambhalpur to attend a wedding. En route his vehicle met with an accident. That one phone call that I  received with the news, changed my world forever.

I still remember the words. They shattered something inside me.

I didn’t know how to grieve. So I buried the pain and then just pushed forward with life—graduating, getting married, becoming a mother. Outwardly, everything looked fine. But inside, I felt hollow and emotionally disconnected.

I was just ticking boxes, but something always felt off.

My suppressed grief soon began showing up in my body—thyroid imbalance, PCOD, a disc prolapse and chronic fatigue. Eventually, I  became bedridden and was so helpless that I could'n't even care for my toddler.

I didn’t recognize the person I had become.

I was at the rock bottom when something shifted in me. My intuition whispered a choice: stay stuck or start healing. I just knew it that this is the point of no return. I listened and  began reconnecting with my emotions, my body, my breath. I found support through Ayurveda, yoga, meditation and holistic therapies. With each step, she slowly untangled years of internal pain and numbness.

The healing wasn’t instant—it took six years of deep work. But I returned home to myself. Now, I hold space for others to reconnect with themselves. Because true healing begins when you finally meet yourself.

(Today, Premsai is a transformational clarity coach, a leadership facilitator and a yoga practitioner. But more than titles, she is a woman who feels whole again)

  (Author: Amrita Didyala)

Mogulappa had been sleeping in the open fields ever since he was a child. Nestled under a sprawling banyan tree on his 2-acre land in Warangal district near Hyderabad, this solitary spot had, over the years, become his sacred space — a place where he felt most at peace. Now 56, a father of three daughters, Mogulappa was seeking a suitable match for his second daughter. He planned to sell one acre of his land to make ends meet.

Though farmlands in the outskirts of cities like Hyderabad were fetching higher rates, finding buyers wasn’t easy. Most people wanted investment-ready land they could visit and manage. For that reason, despite being a regular commuter to Hyderabad, Mogulappa found it hard to close a deal.

By day, he worked as a cab driver, enlisted with a city-based agency. Each morning, he’d take an 8 a.m. train and reach his office by 9, ready for bookings. On days with early rides, he’d stay back at the office overnight. He met many people during his drives — and often, something within nudged him to bring up his land. It wasn’t a forced pitch; rather, a quiet knowing that someone out there would be the right connection.

For three months, he spoke about his land whenever his intuition guided him. But nothing came of it.

Then came an assignment — a ride with Shrishti, who was headed on a tour of Warangal. On the way, he once again spoke about his land, almost instinctively. Sensing his sincerity, Shrishti — though not a buyer — agreed to mention it to her network.

He took her to a mango orchard on the way, and they plucked ripe mangoes from low-hanging branches. Then, they walked toward the adjoining field. As she looked around, taking in the trees, the open skies, and the house nestled in solitude, something stirred within her. She had lived a fast-paced, professional life — but here, in the middle of nowhere, she could feel the depth of Mogulappa’s connection to the land.

The spot where he slept — under the grand banyan tree — seemed unassuming in the blazing sun. Yet, it exuded a calm, timeless energy. She asked if he ever felt afraid sleeping there, alone and without electricity.

“No,” he said simply. “These are my ancestors’ lands. I know they watch over me. I feel protected. There are no mosquitoes here, and I sleep deeply. This is where I feel most alive. My only worry is having to sell part of it.”
 

Shrishti smiled, quietly moved by his inner knowing — that deep, unshakable trust in something greater, something unseen.

And perhaps he was right.

Within weeks, Mogulappa found a buyer. But not just any buyer — someone who asked Mogulappa to continue caring for the land, even after the deal. He remained under the same banyan tree, still sleeping under the stars, still held by the land that raised him.

The land may have changed ownership, but the spirit of it — and the man who trusted his intuition — stayed exactly where it belonged.

(Names changed on request)